


Takeout and Tattoos

by amy_vic



Category: Without a Trace
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, first person POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-04
Updated: 2010-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amy_vic/pseuds/amy_vic





	Takeout and Tattoos

I don't know how it started. It wasn't like I'd planned on it; it just...happened.

It was a regular day. Well, regular enough at that time. My wife was pissed at me, my back hurt from too many nights on the living room couch, and people still went missing.

This particular case wasn't giving us any help. A 31-year-old woman was supposed to meet her husband for a drink. She's an intern at NYU; works the 3-11 shift. Her husband goes to the bar, waits half an hour, she doesn't show. He tries her cell phone, and only gets her voicemail. So he calls the hospital, and gets a hold of her supervisor. Supervisor tells him 'Sorry, Mr. Roberts, but Beth left here about an hour ago. She said she was having dinner with you. Is something wrong?' Mr. Roberts hangs up, and tries calling a few of his wife's closest friends. No dice. So he calls his nearest precinct, and they call us.

We've talked to nearly everyone Beth Roberts knows. Her credit cards are being tracked, we've gone through her phone records, and checked out her husband. So far, we've come up with nothing.

So, we've moved on to theories. Well, that's not entirely right. It's mostly Danny coming up with these theories, while Vivian and I are going over Beth's phone records and credit card statements once more. Samantha, on the other hand…I'm not quite sure what she's doing. She's got the statements we took from Beth's husband and her best friend, but I don't think she's actually reading them. She's staring at the papers, but I can tell she's trying to figure out why this woman would disappear with no warning signs.

"Maybe she just got tired of it all."

Is she talking to me? I barely heard her, but I guess she was talking to me. She's still holding the papers in her hand, but she just looked at me like…almost like she's not really talking about Beth and her husband. It's almost as if she's talking about my own marriage; like she knows exactly how bad it's gotten recently.

I'm a little surprised that she said that. Usually, it's not up for comment, although I don't really see why. We're all practically family, and most of the time, we'll talk about anything that comes to mind. The only things that seem to be off-limits are Danny's parents and, apparently, my marriage.

A few days later, Samantha and I are heading back from talking to Mrs. Roberts' accountant. We had scheduled our meeting for 4:00, and it ran long, which meant that we finished up just as half of the financial district decided that their day was over. Some days, I hate New York.

So, Samantha and I are in the car and we since we clearly aren't going anywhere for a while, we start talking. We both bitch about the amount of paperwork on a few of our cases, she reminds me that she's taking some time off for a training course in Virginia next month, and I mention how Kate can't wait to start pre-school on Monday. And then, during the inevitable lull, Samantha asks that one little question.

"So, how are things with your wife? Is everything okay?"

Wow. I didn't think she'd say that. I mean, I'm not upset that she did; it's just that Samantha usually doesn't bring up things that she feels may be out of bounds for her. She's been working with us for nearly 2 years, but still gives off that 'I'm just the new girl' vibe at times.

"It's...complicated. We've just drifted so far apart; I don't quite know where we stand with each other anymore."

That threw her a little; I can see it in her face. No doubt she's thinking, "Shit, what do I say to that? I shouldn't have asked that." I don't blame her for asking, though. It's about time someone did.

"Oh. But, you're trying to work it out, right?"

Well, that does seem to be the logical thing to do. Too bad my wife my wife really doesn't give a shit. Of course, in all fairness, my working upwards of 70 hours a week is a large part of the problem.

"You know, if it weren't for Hanna and Kate, I'm not sure it would be worth staying with her." One good thing about working so many late nights is that I have a lot of time to think.

Samantha doesn't say anything to that, and I'm betting it's because she never had to factor kids into the equation. "Well, you've been married before, right? What did you do, once you realized it wasn't going to work?"

Oops. Samantha obviously wasn't aware that I knew about that, and I think I may have pissed her off, because she's turned away from me, opting to stare out the window.

"That was different." Okay, she can't be that pissed, if she's talking to me.

"Really? How so?"

"Because, it was." Sam shakes her head a little and continues. "It was different, first of all, because there were no children involved. Second, I was 18; I was practically a child myself. Third, we got married for all the wrong reasons. Fourth, well, actually, I'm not sure I have a fourth point."

Oh. "So, what you're saying is that my wife and I should stay married for the sake of our children, even if I'm unhappy, because I'm an adult and should know better?"

"No, I'm not saying that. I'm saying that you should discuss this with your wife, and tell her how you feel about it."

Luckily, traffic lightened up then. I'm not sure I could have responded to that.

A week later, we both ended up staying late, trying to catch up on paperwork that never seems to end.

"So, why did you get married, if it was for the wrong reasons?" I keep flipping through files, trying to sound casual. That's been on my mind since that day Samantha asked me how my wife and I were doing. I can't figure out why, though.

Samantha looks up and grins at me. "Well, for one thing, my mother couldn't stand him."

Heh. I've been there a time or two (okay, more like five) myself.

"Yeah, that's usually the first reason. I dated a girl once, when my father was stationed in England, and my mother was furious with me for it; didn't speak to me for nearly a month."

"Really?" Samantha looks like she's trying to picture me at 15, and I sort of wish she wouldn't; when I was 15, she was still drinking juice from a sippy cup. And now I'm trying to figure out what kind of kid Sam was. Great.

"Well, I mean, she was the base commander's daughter..." We both start laughing.

"I don't know, honestly. I guess because Paul convinced me that it would be a good idea." She looks down at some papers, but I'm pretty sure she's going to keep talking about it.

"Oh, come on! I was 18 and thought I was in love. I would've done practically anything for him at that point." See? It's almost like she's trying to justify her marriage to me.

"Besides, it's not like I got stuck with a tattoo of his name plastered across my back or anything." She's got the faintest little smile on her face.

"Yeah, I'm not sure I can picture you with a tattoo." Well, not a big, gaudy tattoo, anyways.

"I never said I didn't get a tattoo; just that it doesn't have my ex-husband's name on it." So, Samantha _does_ have one. That's funny; she neglected to mention that in her personnel file. Not that I've read it cover to cover or anything.

I think she's a little embarrassed by this; she hasn't looked up from that file in 5 minutes. I also don't think she realizes that she's been staring at the same page the whole time.

"What?" Ah, now she looks up.

"Nothing."

"Liar." Wow, someone's loosened up fast. Samantha never would have joked with me like that 6 months ago. Hell, I'm not sure she'd have done it six days ago.

"It's just...I really can't see you getting a tattoo is all. You really got one?" No way she got one. Samantha doesn't seem like the type who'd end up getting ink.

"Yeah, Jack, I really did. And no, you can't see it. Could we get back to work here, please? I'd like to make it home before the sun rises."

"Shit. I'll be right back; I have to make a phone call." Time for another lecture from my wife. I wonder which one it'll be tonight: probably the 'you haven't seen your daughters in three days, and they miss you' one. Maria's been using that one quite a bit lately.

"This is enough for tonight. We should go home and get some sleep." Samantha looks up at me so fast, I swear I just heard her neck snap. She's got this expression on her face like I just suggested that..._oh_.

"What I meant was that you should go back to your place, and get some sleep. We'll meet back here in the morning and go over this with clear heads." Oops. I guess I should have clarified that.

"Okay. I'll see you in the morning." She reaches for her coat, and I decide that now might not be a good time to offer to hold it for her as she puts it on. "You're not going home?"

Hardly. Maria's pretty pissed that I'm still here, and I made the mistake of mentioning that I was working on a case with you. I'll be lucky to sleep in my own bed on Christmas Eve. "No. I've got a few things to finish up, and I have to be back here early for a meeting, so I'll probably just crash on the couch."

"Oh. Okay. Well, I should get going." She gathers up a couple of files to finish up at home, even though I'm sure she'll be fast asleep before she hits the couch. At least, I hope she will be; she's clocked just shy 50 hours this week, and it's only Wednesday night.

"I'll walk you to your car." Leave the files, Sam. You don't have to prove how hard you work at this job. I see it all the time. "They'll still be here in the morning."

We walk out toward the doors, and somehow my right hand ends up flat against the small of her back. At first it was because she was about three inches from banging her hip on the edge of Danny's desk, but then it just...stays there. And Samantha doesn't seem to mind one bit. Which is good, actually, because if she did that might bring in to focus the fact that I really, really should not be doing this.

"So, are you sure I can't see your tattoo?" That's good, Jack. Crack a joke so she can't see that all you really want to do is lean her against the car and kiss her.

She laughs, and I'd swear she's thinking that exact same thing. It's something about the way she shakes her head that gives it away. "Goodnight, Jack. I'll see you in the morning."

"'Night. Drive carefully."

 

~~~~~

A month later, I ring in the New Year by pulling Samantha aside in the darkest corner of the office. Everyone else is too busy drinking and watching the fireworks outside the windows. No one notices when I kiss her, or how she rests a hand on my arm as she kisses me back.

Two weeks later, I make the first of many calls to my wife, telling her that I won't make it home from work, and to kiss the girls goodnight for me.


End file.
